Living the Dream
by Burnedtoasty
Summary: Sam and Sandra Hollis share a difference of opinion.


**Title**: Living the Dream  
**Disclaimer**: _I, in no way, shape, manner, or form, own the Watchmen or the characters said comic/ film adaption contains. All publicly recognizable characters are copyrighted to Alan Moore and I do believe DC. No copyright infringement is intended_.  
**Fandom**: Watchmen  
**Characters**: Dan Dreiberg, Laurie Juspeczyk  
**Continuity**: Comic, post-Antartica  
**Warnings**: None  
**Summary**: Sam and Sandra Hollis share a difference of opinion.  
**Author's** **Note**: This was done, originally, as a sort-of-a-little-bit-kind-of April Fool's fic; a little tongue in cheek, mostly, because I'm biased against White Picket Fence and 2.4 Kids being required to be happy. Criticism welcome and approved.

--

"No, no," Laurie – now Sandra (but not really) – is saying, running a hand through her hair for the hundredth time and seriously considering taking up her nicotine addiction for the thousandth. "I like kids. I like kids just fine. I just don't want any."

"But," Da—_Sam_ has taken up her hand, swept away with his usual zeal for whatever idea has struck his fancy before reality sets in. If he wasn't so sincere about it, she might have been able to hate him for it. "But isn't it the dream? It's—it's what couples _do_, settle in, have kids…" he squeezes her fingers encouragingly, and takes off his glasses with his free hand to stare at her imploringly.

Dammit.

She yanks her hand free, and crosses her legs, slamming her shoulders back into the couch rather than slumping. "_Other_ people have kids. _We_ beat up people."

That shuts him up. He rocks back on his heels, leaning one elbow on the coffee table. He looks thoughtful. She can't help but think that's never a good sign. "Not always. Not all the time. Think about it, the pitter-patter of little feet—"

"The saggy breasts, morning sickness—wow, you're really painting a wonderful image here," She starts to run a hand through her hair, remembers herself, and angrily yanks the offending appendage back down to her lap, smoothing out her pajama bottoms. In the background, the movie continues playing, blithely unaware in the way only celluloid can be. A man is offering a girl the moon. Sandra remembers when she stood on Mars. "It's not happening. I'm not—I'm not going to settle in just because you got a whim. I'm _not_ giving up anything."

"I'm not asking you to." It's sort of charming, how innocently he says it, but not nearly enough.

"Yes, you are. You're asking a helluva lot." Her fingers knot in the fabric of her clothing, and she exhales sharply. Good lord. Couldn't he just take it in his head to upgrade Archie? To install a lock on the door that doesn't give out after one sharp jingle?

"No, really. I'll—we can alternate. I really think I can—_we_ can do this."

She decides to pull out her reserves, knowing exactly what it takes to crush that candid enthusiasm and hating that she does. "Dan. _Dan_. You're not thinking this through—it's not— someone will have to take care of it. You're sweet – most of the time – but I don't think you could properly take after a _stray_, let alone a _baby_." It's not even a direct reference and she can already tell he is mentally reeling back, recoiling from what they are so careful to never bring up. To soften the blow, Sandra reaches out, and cups his cheek gently. "And I—I just don't want any. I'm not a 'mom' kind of woman." Should not have agreed to go to the neighbor's home for poker night when they just had that new arrival. Should not have let herself awkwardly dandle a baby on her knee. Most especially, should not have let Sam get that _look_ on his face – his planning face. His sneaky face.

Sam's bottom lip abruptly protrudes, and wibbles slightly. "What about… ever?" He looks crushed. Absolutely crushed, even if the idea just occurred to him last night.

"_Yes_. No. I don't know! I know I don't want any _now_. Definitely no. I'm—we're just living our lives, _I'm_ living my life. I don't want to hand that off for some maternal drive." Softening her voice, she grasps his shoulders to draw him up beside her, adjusting the popcorn bowl to sit in her lap. He flops beside her with a sigh, setting his glasses back on their customary perch. "We're not exactly in a position to be thinking about this, anyways." Financially or otherwise.

"I… Okay, yeah. I know. I just…"

'_Got a stupid idea in your head and wouldn't let it go'_ isn't the right thing to say, so she merely smiles warmly and pats him on the knee. "It's okay, hon. Have some popcorn."

"Yeah."

She snuggles against his chest, comfortable and resplendent in victory. They stare at the television in silence, watching people pantomime life in a way far too tidy to ever be anything like reality. Sam sighs again, and loops an arm around her, leaning his cheek against her hair.

She lightly punches his side, and only half-jokingly intones, "… Even so, _God help you_ if you were thinking of naming it Walter."

The pause is just long enough to be mortified rather than amused.

She squints up at him, jerking away. "Dan. Dan you _weren't_."

He laughs, a little too loud, a little too rushed, and doesn't meet her eyes. "No, no— of _course_ not, don't be ridiculous." His smile falters. "Why would I even—I mean, could you even _imagine_? No."

She gives him another long, flat look, and resumes her place up against him, still scowling. He pops a kernel in his mouth thoughtfully.

"But you know it's a perfectly _reasonable_ name…"

**Unofficial Epilogue**:

They compromise, and soon after 'saved' a mangy cat from some dark and dismal alley. Dan attempts to bond with it, and it, in turn, attempts to eviscerate his face at every given opportunity and escape out the window.

They name it Wally, and Laurie pretends to not notice Dan wibbling whenever it lets him pet it.


End file.
